


Birds of a Feather

by Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: Wildlife Rescue [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Animal Transformation, Dirthalene, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: It starts with a bead.Selene smiles and thanks the bird for the gift, tucking it into the pocket of her jeans before heading back into the Haven Wildlife Rehabilitation Center to help out her friend.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts with a bead.

Selene smiles and thanks the bird for the gift, tucking it into the pocket of her jeans before heading back into the Haven Wildlife Rehabilitation Center to help out her friend.

The next time, it is a coin. Given to her just as she is scrounging her pockets for fare for the bus back home. She would almost think it were on purpose, but of course this is just a bird and that would be  _ridiculous_.

It is two weeks later when she hears a  _tap tap tapping_ on her window. There on her sill are two large black, familiar ravens, each holding a key in its beak.

She opens the window, and they drop their keys in a synchronized manner and flutter into her home. Making themselves perfectly at home, as though they had not last encountered her in the middle of nowhere with severe injuries.

As though they were  _pets_ , almost.

She watches as their talons click against her kitchen counters, inspecting her cereal selections with curious blinks and jerking head tilts.

She supposes, if she just leaves the window open so that they  _can_ leave, this might not be so terrible.

The next day she wakes up to a small pile of polished rocks on her bedside table. They were not there the night before, and she’s not entirely certain where they could have found obsidian in this region either.

But they are very lovely, and she thanks them with several sure strokes through their feathers as she stands to get ready for work.

 

–

 

The following day there is a bracelet, the next there are two earrings that do not match, and then a pair of earbuds covered in plastic glued on ‘bling’.

None of these particularly raise her alerts; its not uncommon for corvids to remember those who helped them, or to return with small gifts.

But then one of them brings her a pocketknife.

It is a very nice pocket knife, with an ironbark handle that tells her they  _definitely_  stole it from a dalish clan somewhere.

But she knows for a fact there aren’t any around here. Had made very sure, before she settled down, that she would not accidentally encounter anyone she might’ve known…before.

“This is a very dangerous object,” She informs the slightly smaller of the two, their beak somehow sharper than the others. “You could have been hurt. Please do not bring anymore knives.”

She could swear they nod in return.

–

 

She is watching The Princess Bride for the fifth time this weekend, sprawled out in her pajamas on the couch when the larger, cuddlier bird returns, landing on the armrest that had been doubling as her pillow.

There is a ring in its mouth.

“Finally decided to propose, have you?” She teases.

The raven makes a soft, purr like sound and drops the ring into her hand all the same.

She places it down on the table beside her, and goes back to watching the movie.

The other bird perks from where it had been settled on the top of her couch against the wall, eyeing the ring curiously. The first picks it up, and presents it to Selene again.

She takes it, again, and stares at them.

They nudge their head against her hand pointedly, and it clicks.

“Oh. Alright, well, I suppose it would be rude to say no, hm?” She slides the ring onto her finger, and rubs at their head in thanks “We already live together, it seems. I suppose this was always the next step. Not like it’ll change much around here.”

After that, the items they bring seem to be…a higher quality.

A few of the pieces she wonders about donating to a museum if only she could find one the Chantry did not have their fingers in. They are very old, a few still thrumming with ancient magics, but beautifully carved. Designs so intricate she almost thinks they must be changing when she isn’t looking. Necklaces made of stones and metals she doesn’t recognize, that do not feel heavy against her neck and almost seem to improve her luck throughout the day.

It is a nice sort of monotony they settle into. Albeit, a short lived one.

Selene wakes one winter morning, to find another body wrapped around her own.

She screams, but when she tries to pull away they only pull her tighter. Arms wrapped around her middle, a face pressed against the back of her neck.

“You are being unusually loud for so early in the day,” They mumble.

“Who the  _ **fuck**_  do you think you are?” She screams back in retaliation.

“Deceit,” they mumble again. “And again, you are being very loud.”

“How exactly did you think I would react to finding a stranger in my bed?” She asks with an intense whisper as she tries to wriggle free of their grasp.

“I’m not a stranger. We’ve been living together for weeks.”

“No, we haven’t.”

Deceit hands drift down her arms, landing on the ring she is still wearing on her finger and taps it lightly. “Mm-hm. I gave you this, remember? You rubbed my head for it. Fear witnessed and everything.”

“Who is Fear?”

One of her birds finally rustles, feathers shifting from where it had been resting near her feet.

“That’s Fear,” Deceit informs her, nuzzling his head against the back of her neck with a soft sigh. “And I’m sorry I did not ask properly first. But it was very cold, and you were very warm. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“You should have listened,” Fear speaks from their place on the bed. “I warned you she would not take well to our shifting.”

Selene blinks, staring down at the raven.

The one that just spoke in perfect common.

To the strange elf in her bed.

“Is this a dream?” She tries. “Am I still asleep, maybe?”

“I would like to be,” Deceit  grumbles. “It is still very early; we should all go back to sleep.”

“Sleep would not be unwarranted,” Fear agrees. “The Great Aspect will not be here for a few more hours; you should rest in the meantime.”

Selene nods.  
“Great Aspect. Right. I think we’re all agreed on sleep then. I’ll see you all when I’ve…stopped hallucinating. No more marshmallow cereals before bed, I think.”

Deceit just settles against her back in agreement, sliding one of their legs between her own as their breathing evens out.

Selene is still trying to convince herself she is already dreaming when her doorbell rings.


	2. Chapter 2

Selene is touch-starved.

Fear is the one who technically deduces this, but Deceit thinks he had already figured out the general concept by the time their other Aspect puts it into words and a technical frame. They both have noticed that not very many people touch their rescuer, and that when contact is offered, she almost always hastens to accept it. Even though most people have some reservations about cuddling with enormous ‘wild’ ravens.

Selene does not.

Deceit worries about the implications of this. Before they split into aspects, they did not have sufficient contact either. It was not a good time.

Fortunately, at least, the solution is obvious.

Selene huffs at him the first time he gets his head under the hem of her sweatshirt, and starts burrowing his way up towards the collar. Careful with his talons and beak, mindful of the wealth of warm, soft skin that is currently just protected by a flimsy undershirt. Eventually he manages to snug his way between Selene’s breasts, with his beak poking out of the top of her collar. A little more worming around, and he is in a good position to nuzzle his head up under her chin, while the remainder of him rests against her chest. Close enough to feel the rhythmic  _thump_  of her heartbeats.

She snorts at him, but also brushes her fingers through the feathers on his head as he rubs up against her.

“Satisfied?” she asks, wryly.

 _Somewhat,_  Deceit thinks. There are better forms for cuddling. Ones with arms, at the least. Ones he could properly hold her with. But, as he is currently pretending to be a bird, this will have to do. He offers up a self-satisfied caw, and worries a stray curl of Selene’s hair with his beak. She mumbles something about ‘domestication’ and warns him not to peck her, but makes no effort to move him. After a while, the motions of her fingers in his feathers slow, and her breathing evens out.

It is very pleasant.

Deceit likes this.

This contact is good.

Fear is concerned. Fear is always concerned. And the Great Aspect is calling for them, but even though it strains them a little, they both can ignore it. For now.

Selene begins to wear loose sweaters and sweatshirts even more often than she used to. Deceit discovers the limitations of a raven’s physical coziness. He masters the art of landing on an elven shoulder without causing pain, and figures out precisely the right amount of pressure to apply with his beak to mimic touches without doing harm. He also discovers that bedcovers properly arranged provide fun slopes to roll down, and that the curve at the small of Selene’s back is the perfect place to wedge himself when he is cold. If he positions himself correctly, he can still also watch television.

Selene’s apartment can become  _very_  cold sometimes. Especially at night. But her skin runs hot, and Fear starts discreetly placing warming charms, so it is not so bad. And when Selene dreams, they both are quite pleased to offer her comfortable fireplaces and warm mugs of spiced wine, and even the Great Aspect ventures towards the surface of things at those times, and conjures blossoming trees that make Selene dream of spring.

Deceit is the one who decides to bring her the ring.

But Fear, contrary to their nature, does not offer any objections or even concerns.

Selene accepts the gift and wears it, and on some level Deceit knows that there are still too many layers of  _deception_  for it to properly ‘count’, yet. It is in their nature to know, of course. But by then, the Great Aspect has given up calling, and is coming to them. And it is only a matter of time, at that point. Deceit snuggles himself up Selene’s sweater and runs his beak through her hair, and brushes his head against her chin until she laughs and asks what’s gotten into him. When she attempts to read he hops into her lap, and eventually she is holding her book in one hand while the other cards gently through his feathers, and even Fear ventures close enough to get a few soft scritches and pets.

By the time she beds down for the night, Selene is humming and contented. Their ring bright on her finger, the Dreaming already beginning to reorient some of itself to accommodate the shift.

_Brother will be angry, if he learns._

_So we will lie to him. He is busy with his quarrels anyway._

The night goes very cold.

So cold that outside, winds blow shards of ice down the streets, and freezes the sap inside of trees. It explodes, and the sound cracks like gunshots through Haven’s night air. The building’s furnace dies. The heating charms do not, but Selene has left one of the living room windows open, and the cold slinks in through gaps and spaces insufficient to repel it. Until Deceit can feel the chill of it on his feathers, and Selene has wrapped herself tight in her blankets.

Fear pulls another blanket up off of the bedroom chair, and drops it over her feet. They move to go roost in the midst of one of their heating charms, as Deceit leaves to close the window. When he gets back, he feels brittle and too-cold.

 _Come here,_  Fear advises.

Deceit looks at the lump of Selene’s blankets, and hesitates.

 _Body heat,_  he thinks.

Fear clacks their beak at him.

_No._

_But it would work-_

_You will frighten her witless. She will not know it is you._

_She knows us. She wears our ring._

_Deceit-_

_Body heat._

_Deceit,_ **_no._ **

He ignores Fear, and their excessive over-caution, and hops onto Selene’s bed. A raven’s body is too small for what he intends, but he gets under the covers that way, and then lets himself shift. Feathers giving way to bare skin and black hair, wingtips splitting into fingers, legs growing longer and thicker. He curls an arm around Selene’s waist, and holds his breath for a moment.

But she does not wake. Not when he places a hand over her fingers, and not when he presses up against her back. She presses into him in turn, sighing in her sleep. Wriggling her backside up against his crotch, which is awkward for a moment, until Deceit partially shifts again and makes himself smooth there. They are  _cuddling,_  not… that. No. They are just cuddling, exactly as they have done on many occasions before, and after a few moments the blankets become deliciously warm, and some of the hunched tension seeps away from Selene’s shoulders. The heat sinks through him and Deceit has no chance to think of transforming back, no hope of letting go, even as Fear insists that he absolutely should.

He buries his nose into Selene’s hair and closes his eyes, and with muzzy contentment, lets himself drift into the Dreaming.


	3. Chapter 3

Selene is lying in bed when her doorbell first rings. She grumbles, still practically pinned to her bed by the naked elf that used to be a bird.

The doorbell rings a second time.

“I will get it,” Deceit announces when it becomes clear she is not going to move.

 

Selene is still trying to convince herself that this is all a dream, when she sees two bare legs and an equally bare behind about to walk out her bedroom door.

“Wait!” she calls, sitting up in bed and realizing that, in  _some_  sort of capacity, she needs to try to get a handle on the situation. “Just-” she pulls a small drawer out from beneath her mattress and tosses a (now painfully ironic) bird patterned set of pajama pants at their face, walking past them and into the living room. “Just put some pants on, first.” she closes the door again behind her with a quiet “ _Please._ ”

 

The doorbell rings a third time, and she can hear someone knocking now too.

 

Carefully, she unlocks her front door, peeking out cautiously-

Only for her roommate to swing the door open and whack her in the face with it.

 

“I’m hooooooome!” Des croons, holding his dufflebag up in the air like a victory trophy before dropping it straight onto the floor. “Did you miss me, darling-Ouch, what’d you do to your face?”

“I lost control of my life and my face seems to be suffering the consequences.” She mutters back, tilting her head back and grabbing the nearest box of tissues to try and keep the blood pouring out of her nose from ruining her favorite sleep shirt. “How was your trip?”

“Better than yours,” Des grins, pulling one of her juice bottles out of the fridge and helping himself. “While you were wrist deep in animal droppings and mud and hay and…whatever else is out at that ‘clinic’, I was sunbathing on an island and getting free drinks from beautiful people.”

“Yeah, about the clinic-”

 

Selene hears her door open and invents a slew of new curse words internally.

 

Deceit steps out wearing only the pajama pants.

Pants that Des has seen multiple times.

Pants that Des  _knows_  are hers.

Selenes face is still bleeding, and Des is drinking her juice.

 

There is about to be a train wreck in her living room, and there is nothing she can do but brace for impact.

 

Des lets out a long, low whistle. “Tell me you found this one  _rolling in the hay_. I’m begging. Please give me this, I brought you souvenirs.”

“Did you  _hurt_  her?” Deceit snaps, the air snapping around them.

“Not on purpose-”Selene interrupts

“You are  _bleeding_!”

“Only a little-”

“ThAT IS TOO MUCH!”

 

There is a soft click clacking in the still open doorway to Selenes apartment, and three heads turn to find the source of the noise.

 

A rather abnormally large raven is standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as their feathers ruffle around them.

“You must be the Great Aspect,” Selene sighs in resignation, still holding a tissue to her nose with her head tilted back.

“Yes,” The raven nods “Though you may call me Dirthamen, if you would like. You must be Selene?”

“That’s me,” She says, waving with her free hand for him to enter.

 

“Hold on,” Des says, placing the empty juice bottle down on the kitchen counter. “Did that bird just talk? No one else is freaking out about the talking bird?”

“I’ve gone a bit numb to it all at this point,” Selene jokes, taking a new tissue to test how badly her nose is still dripping (not so much anymore, so that’s…something) “By the way, Deceit over here was a bird too. And Fear’s still in the bedroom I think. They’re probably still a bird, but you should wait for them to come out on their own, I think. They’re a bit shy.”

“Should I not be a bird?” Dirthamen asks from the couch. 

Without waiting for an answer, the ravens neck tilts, and his form stretches; feathers to flesh, elongated legs, and long sleek black hair. The wings remain, and he ends up with four eyes and four arms, each awkwardly trying to figure out where to settle. Deceit walks over, assisting with the proper number of limbs and placement, and Selene watches with interest as Dirthamen uses Deceit like a reflection, mimicking facial features and body type.

No luck getting him to copy the pants though.

Just another naked elf, sitting on her couch.

 

“I’ll…I’ll be right back.” Selene sighs, confident that Des can handle himself in a room with half or fully naked elves with ease, regardless of godhood or…elfhood?

Her life made sense yesterday.

_Really_.

 

She clicks the bedroom door closed behind her, leaning against it with a groan as she slides down to the floor.

Fear looks her over from their perch on her bed frame.

 

“There is still blood on your face.”

“There’s a sink in here, I’ll wash it off,” She returns with a wave of her hand.

“You are very anxious.”

 

Selene levels them with a  _look_.

“I have two nearly naked shapeshifters out there, one of whom I think thinks I’m married to them, the other had four arms at last glance, a roommate who’s still on a vacation high and possibly-accidentally- broke my nose, several hours less sleep than I had planned on getting, and I am venting all of this to a mysterious talking bird who is by all accounts probably  _also_  a shapeshifter. I was supposed to go in to work today you know. I don’t think they’ll let me call out with 'sorry, I think I’m slipping into madness and can’t substitute today, try calling someone else’.”

 

Fears head tilts in a manner similar to Dirthamens and Selene worries for a moment that they are  _also_  about to shift into a naked elf.

But they remain a bird, and flutter down to land on her knee.

 

“I do not suppose it would help to inform you that the marriage would be to all three of us?”

Selene lets out another groan, and repeatedly bangs her head against her bedroom door.


	4. Chapter 4

Fear calls Selene’s work for her.

It is a simple enough matter. They find her phone in her purse, and discover the number labeled ‘school board - work’, and press it carefully with their beak. After the ringing finishes, a woman answers. Fear explains that they are calling on behalf of Selene Lavellan, to report that she suffered an injury this morning and will not be able to come in to work today.

Selene takes the phone from them partway through, radiating yet more anxiety as she snatches it up.

“Hi, yes, hello, Moira? No, no, that was just - no, it’s fine, Des just winged me with a door and my… friend is overreacting. It’s just a bloodied nose, it’s fine. I’ll be there. Brightwood Secondary, right? Ms. Milton’s third graders? Not a problem.”

She hangs up and puts her phone into her pocket, and gives Fear a stern look.

“I have to  _work,”_  she says. “The rent doesn’t pay itself, and you don’t get to make decisions about my job for me.”

Fear blinks at the obvious unhappiness in her manner.

They have overstepped, it seems.

“Sorry,” they concede. “You said you did not know how to explain it. I wanted to help.”

Some of her unhappiness eases a little bit at that, at least. She lets out a breath, and then turns to where Dirthamen and Deceit are still in the living room. They are sitting with Des, who is observing some of Dirthamen’s shape-shifting abilities. After a moment, Selene’s face reddens considerably, and she looks at the floor.

“I have to get ready,” she says.

“For work,” Fear confirms. “We can wait until you are finished to discuss matters. Perhaps some distance and time will be beneficial to alleviating your distress.”

Selene seems hesitant now, though. She rubs at her face. Then winces as she makes contact with the swelling at the bridge of her nose. It has stopped bleeding at least, which is good. Deceit has not forgotten, though, and Fear can tell that they are still unhappy and unimpressed with ‘Des’. Dirthamen is mostly consumed with observing Selene in person for the first time. Which is not surprising, he has not had much opportunity to really  _look_  at her yet.

“I shouldn’t go,” she decides, and then pulls her phone back out. She hesitates for a moment, but rather than calling her employer, she puts it back again. “No, I should. I should go to work. You three just… just stay here and don’t get into any trouble. There’s food in the fridge…”

“I know,” Fear confirms.

Selene makes an odd sound, and offers up a strange half-wave gesture. Apparently reviewing the recent past with the knowledge that her ‘raven guests’ have not been ravens is stressful. Fear  _had_  tried to offer up subtle clues, beforehand, but it seems their state of being is more unexpected in these times than they had anticipated.

Selene’s roommate seems surprised at her choice. They discuss it somewhat, with varying degrees of incredulity, while Dirthamen flexes his form and Deceit reminds him how many fingers are generally on hands. After a moment, Fear flies over to them, and silently advises that they all take on their bird shapes instead.

The Great Aspect protests. He has only just managed to attain an elven form of suitable standards. But Fear thinks it would help calm the situation if they were birds, and after a moment, they manage to win the debate. Deceit folds himself back into his raven form. The Great Aspect makes a similar attempt, but he has not been on this plane in a much longer stretch of time, and his energies are fluctuating due to their marriage bond. He miscalculates, and rather than becoming a raven, he settles into the shape of a mid-sized, winged black bear.

Selene and Des’ conversation halts as they both observe this development.

“…So, yes, that seems like a  _pretty_  good case for him actually being Dirthamen,” Des notes.

Selene slumps against the wall, and slowly pulls her phone out of her bag. She calls the work number again, Fear thinks, judging by the sound of the voice that answers.

“Hi, Moira? Turns out I actually do have a concussion. I’m also kind of hallucinating a little, so I’ll have to go to the hospital. Sorry… yeah, no. Thank you. No, I’ll be okay, I’ve got someone to take me. Okay. Yup, I’ll forward it.”

She hangs up, and then drops her face into her hands.

Deceit hops over, and settles into her lap. Offering a routine caw, in a futile effort to help restore her sense of normalcy.

Fear takes it as a good sign that she starts petting them, at least. While her roommate heads over to the Great Aspect, and ventures a hand towards him. Dirthamen blinks, but offers no protest. Des pets him with increasing confidence.

“Oh wow, Selene, this is the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my life!” he exclaims.

Selene looks over, and purses her lips. And then with a defeated sigh, she gets up, and comes over, and starts petting the Great Aspect as well.

It is not the plan Fear had laid out for explaining things to her.

They sigh, internally, and begin to revise.


	5. Chapter 5

It starts with a sneeze.

“Ugh,” Des drawls, dressed only in a very loosely tied robe embroidered with what Selene is pretty sure are actual golden flower petals as he greets her by their entrance to the crossroads. “Did the germ monsters get to you again?”

“They’re just kids,” Selene sniffs, wiping at her nose with a fresh tissue from her bag. “I had a kindergarten class this morning. It’s probably just something going around,”

“Why are you still substituting?” Des sighs, leaning dramatically against her for a brief moment before she knocks against him with her shoulder. “Your partners have given you a  _literal castle of magic._ What on Earth could you want besides that?”

“My own source of income for financial dependence for one,” Selene says as they move through the grounds and towards the castle itself. “One foot still in the real world, for another. I still can’t believe you quit.”

“We live in a magical castle that doesn’t even need  _dusting_ , Selene. There’s always food, and Dirthamen gave me an entire  _team_  of personal tailors -side note, I may have accidentally introduced crop tops to the culture so look out for that- why would I ever voluntarily go back to the life where I had bills and debts and responsibilities?”

Selene opens her mouth to argue, but ends up going into a coughing fit instead, quickly covering her mouth with a fist. Fear steps out from some shadowy corner and takes Selenes face in their hand.

“What is wrong with you?” They ask.

Selene blinks and shakes her head out of their grip. “Nothing. Probably just allergies. Maybe I’m allergic to the pollen of one of the _hundreds_  of plants you have here that I’ve never encountered before.”

Des snickers, but Fear just stares at her as though she has grown another head.  

Or something else that might be considered strange and unusual to them.

“I do not understand,” They say flatly.

“She’s sick,” Des snorts.

“You were poisoned?” They frown, hair-like feathers on their head rising in alarm. “Do you know what kind? What did it taste like? We should have an antidote somewhere, follow me-”

“I wasn’t poisoned,” Selene assures them. “I had a class of young kids today, and occasionally one of the hazards of my job is germ acquisition. It’s just the sniffles. I’ll take a hot shower and be fine by morning.”

Fear looks at her as though they do not quite believe her, and would rather whisk her off to visit their healers all the same; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“This is….normal?” Fear asks Des dubiously.

“Yeah,” Des shrugs. “You’ve been around for millenia, you’ve never seen someone get sick?”

“We do not have these sorts of illness,” Fear frowns. “Is there….how do you expunge it from your system?”

“Time,” Selene says with a small sniff. “There’s medicines, but mostly they just hide the symptoms. Besides, it could still be nothing. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Fear does not push the subject.

They regret it by morning.

Selene stumbles out of her overly extravagant bed, furs and blankets wrapped tightly around her form as her feet make contact with the harsh cold of the floor.

“Uggh….” She groans, fumbling around the room until she finds her phone in her bag, slowly searching for her works number. “Moira…? Yeah….yeah, again, m'sorry….yeah….yeah….ok, thanks…you too.”

  
She has just managed to fall back into her bed when there is a loud knock on her door.

Grumbling all the way, still wrapped up in blankets and resenting that no one here seems to make  _socks,_ she finally opens the door.

“Plague bearer,” Des accuses from the entry way, wrapped in his own blanket. “I’m in a land where people can shapeshift and have immortal endurance, and you’ve gone and turned me into a  _mucus factory_. The man who draws my baths  _screamed_  when he saw me this morning, and not in our usual fun sort of way, but that sort of ‘oh no im going to die’ sort of way.”

Selene coughs and moves out of the way as he enters her room. “Well you know me; becoming a walking symbol of pestilence is just my overly complicated way of flipping off my father.”

“Couldn’t you have taken a more stereotypical approach to your daddy issues?”

“I’m going to sneeze directly on you, and you are going to  _deserve_  it.”

They bicker all the way back into her bed, and Selenes head has finally hit her pillow when there is yet another round of knocks.

“I’m not getting up again,” she declares before yelling for the person to let themselves in.

It is Fear.

Feather hair thin, eyes somehow more sunken in than usual, and the bottom half of their body still talon-like and looking like a rather poorly-fed harpy.

“I do not like these germs; please take them back.”

Des breaks out into a fit of laughter, broken up by thick, wet coughs. “There’s a bird flu joke in here somewhere, wait, wait, let me find it…”

Selene sighs and pats at the space beside her on the bed.

“Time is the only cure I’m afraid. Cuddling and affection can help though. And naps. Lots of naps.”

“And liquids,” Des adds.

“Do you have orange juice here?”

“I will have Deceit fetch us some,” Fear grumbles, settling against Selenes side. Their usual lower body temperature is still present, and it feels wonderful against her skin, so she opens up her blanket cocoon and pulls them directly against her.

They stiffen, and she hums against their head. “You are very cool,” She admits. “It feels really nice. Do you mind?”

There is a beat of silence before they relax against her. “If it helps, it is fine.”

The three of them drift off back to sleep easily, fatigue already caught up to them for the day.

Selene isn’t sure exactly how long it’s been when she feels Deceit crawl against her back.

“You’re going to get sick,” She warns them quietly.

“Sick doesn’t seem so bad,” They muse, face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Their own body temperature has changed to match Fears, so she doesn’t argue the point, allowing them to make a barrier between the unusually high temperature she and Des were already radiating.

“We can not both be sick,” Fear gripes from their own space.

“Then it is my turn,” Deceit argues.

“The Great Aspect will be too distracted-”

“You have been cuddling her for  _hours_ , it is my turn-”

“I am  _incapacitated_  and  _vulnerable,_ it is hardly a vacation-”

“You are relaxed for the first time in centuries, are you really trying to fool  _me_ -”

“Oh my gods you two really are just like birds arguing outside a window at too-fuckin’-early o'clock, you know that?” Des interrupts, apparently unhappy at being pulled out of his own slumber. “Did you bring me juice?”

“It is on the table,” Deceit says sheepishly.

Des rises from the bed with a yawn, blowing his nose out into a tissue and tossing it into a nearby trash bin with a disgusted face. He doesn’t bother pulling on his robe or taking his blankets, instead telling Selene it’s ‘just too hot for clothes’ while practically chugging down his orange juice.

“I’m married now, I’m not giving you pity sex,” She grumbles back, still half dazed.

Fear murmurs something into her chest she can’t quite make out, but tightens their own hold on her. Long bony fingers press against the skin of her back, and she gives them a reassuring kiss on the head in return.

Deceit feels positively put out (and adjusting to aura’s has been a whole other adventure she regrets now, the buzz of magic in the room only adding to her disorientation) and ends up nudging Selene to sit up so that she can drink her own glass of juice.

She thanks them, sitting up and nudging Fear to do the same while Deceit slings themselves over her back.

“Is this what you normally do when you are 'sick’?” they ask her.

“Mostly,” She admits “This and watch TV. Cooking shows or movies or something. It’s soothing, somehow.”

“Do you want me to get you a TV?” They ask.

Selene blinks, looking at their surroundings, mind still in a bit of a fog.

“Would we…how would you power it?”

“I’ll figure that part out,” They say dismissively. “But you would feel better with your television?”

“I sure would,” Des chimes in.

Deceit looks at them un-impressively (still bitter about the door incident, she thinks), and turns back to Selene expectantly.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” She tells them.

Deceit nods, and dashes off.

She falls back into bed with Fear curled into her chest and Des at her back, dozing back to sleep again.

The sun is very high in the sky when she wakes again, Deceit radiating pride as they gesture to the television.

That is  _not_  her television, by any means.

She tells them as much.

“This one is better,” They tell her. “It is bigger, and the picture quality is much more impressive.”

“Did you  _pay_  for it?” she asks pointedly.

Deceit frowns. “… _Yes_.”

She purses her lips, squinting at them slightly.

“You shouldn’t worry about it so much,” They finally say, scooting back onto the bed as it turns on. There is a remote in their hands, and the familiar opening of The Princess Bride starts playing on the screen in front of them.

Selene snorts, and Des lets out a grumbling groan about needing to show Deceit that Other Movies Exist before he scoots his head into their lap all the same.

Deceit looks about ready to push him back out until Selene adjusts to lean against their shoulder, Fear safely settled and dozing in her own lap, legs tangled up beneath the sheets they had nearly kicked off in their sleep.

“You still might get sick,” She warns Deceit as their arm settles over her shoulder.

“That’s alright,” They hum. “Next time you can get me the juice.”


	6. Chapter 6

Marriage is a complicated concept.

 

It comes with all sorts of bells and whistles; promises and vows and obligations laced with expectations. Joining your life with another isn’t something to be taken lightly, and Selene is no stranger to the inherent risks in such a venture. Had run off largely to avoid them, really.

Unsurprisingly, it is much harder to explain to a God that you did not  _mean_  to marry them, after the fact.

If she were more talented with her words, she thinks, she could do a better job of this. Could explain that, no, she thought they were really just  _birds_ , and that while she felt affection for them had not even considered the possibility that accepting a ring she had thought they’d found on a street somewhere would create a marriage bond strong enough to pull someone out of the fade and into her living room.

Dirthamen tries to explain that that is not precisely what happened, but Selene is more preoccupied with bridging one misunderstanding at a time. Asking about lost secrets of magic and math and science can come later.

(Hopefully.)

 

Somehow she still ends up traveling through a magic mirror (Des right behind her because he adamantly refused to stay at home) and stepping out into a land that Alaris would give his left arm just to know for sure was real.

Something like guilt pulls at the pit of her stomach ( _it shouldn’t be her; she abandoned her culture, her people. Someone else should be doing this, someone with loyalty, someone who **deserves**  to know it wasn’t all lost_) while she follows someone she used to whisper prayers to during fights with her father or troubles with her studies through a large garden, hand held by an elf who is sometimes a raven that she once tried to keep away from her mothers grave by way of a cedar branch.

Part of her still thinks this is all some elaborate hallucination, or prank.

A quick glance up to find towers and spiraling staircase floating above them, and it becomes harder and harder to dispute the reality of her situation.

 

“This will be our home,” Dirthamen states, two large doors made from a stone she doesn’t recognize opening before him.

It is a castle.

It is….it is an actual, magical, castle. Dark and gleaming, flames of golds and greens burning in torches and chandeliers. Walls covered in murals and mosaics and tall, thin windows to let in precise beams of light over the perfectly polished floors. Fear fluffs their wings slightly from where they are perched on her shoulder, and something in the corner of her eye darts away too quickly for her to catch.

Des looks as though he has just won the lottery on his birthday while being told his favorite holiday is happening twice this year, and that he now has the power to make people orgasm on demand.

Selene feels nauseous.

 

“Do you like it?” Dirthamen asks, turning to look at her, face hidden beneath a mask.

 

Selene opens her mouth to answer; ‘its very creepy and I’m not sure if you know what  _haunted_  means but also almost certainly that’ would probably be rude and Gods aren’t really known for handling insults well (and she’s already got to divorce him, she supposes) so instead she opts for  “It is a very…elegant look.”

 

He nods, and she supposes that even if it isn’t the compliment he wanted, he doesn’t seem to have taken offense to it which makes it a win for her.

There is a quick tour then, where Dirthamen points out places and monuments she has never heard of that all  _sound_  interesting, but she is still unsure of which questions will and won’t offend. She gets strange stares from the people they pass, many dropping to their knees as their group walks past; eyes peeking up from masks and long bangs to stare curiously at her. She’s not sure if it’s the clothing, the bruise still apparent on her nose, or the hand holding that is doing it, but it only exacerbates the feeling of being misplaced that pervades her, here.

 

Finally, they pass through a long hall without the presence of others, arriving at another pair of large stone doors that echo the first.

“These will be our chambers,” Dirthamen announces, turning around to face Selene again.

She blinks up at him.

“…Ours?”

He blinks back.

 

“Typically, those with a marriage bond share a bedroom. Their first night together traditionally involves…some sort of physical reaffirmation to their bond. Often in a way that is sexual in nature.”

 

Selene nearly chokes on her own spit.

 

“I-well now, hold on, I never-we’re not-I mean I know you say we are but I didn’t-That is, I know that you’re…” She gestures vaguely to his person with both hands, pulling her grip from Deceits “… _you_ , but that doesn’t mean you get to just-just-decide that I’m supposed to-I thought you were birds, I’m not down for bestiality that’s a hard no ok, I’m not-no, I mean-no, I mean  _no_!”

“I’ll volunteer as tribute,” Des chimes in from behind her, and she has to resist the urge to flick at his ear.

“ _You_  are not the one we are bonded to,” Deceit points out in a near sneer before trying to take Selenes hand in back in their own, only for her to pull back from them again. They pout while Fear speaks up. “We would not force you,” They add.

 

“You..” She laughs incredulously and drags a hand down her face. “You’ve pulled me away from my home, my work, my life, after lying to me for nearly a  _month_ , forced me into a bond I didn’t know I was agreeing to and uprooted any sense I had of what I thought was a story versus what was tangible! You followed me to my home and moved in under false pretenses, and while  _I_  may not have known what was going on, apparently you all did, and thought that was perfectly fine! You have robbed me of things I thought were truths, were absolutes, were facts of history-not to start in on the fact that apparently our gods have been in hiding and unperturbed by the plight of our people while our lands and lives are taken at the hands of anyone else who sets their sights on them-but  _thank fuck_  you’re not going to rape me! What a relief! Absolutely, making this one, single concession makes up for the rest of it! What heroes, what princes, what-what-what… _ **UGH**_!” She throws her arms up in the air, storming off and back down the hall alone, needing space, needing air, needing something,  _anything_  familiar and reassuring.

 

Des hums, hands on his hips as he watches Selene vanish into the shadows.

“She might need more time to adjust there, babe.”

“I can’t imagine you are any help in that regard,” Deceit gripes. “Injuring her and trailing where you are  _unwanted and uninvited_.”

“You’re going to need my help if you want to keep her around,” Des shrugs. “Clearly, you’re no good at this.”

“We were doing just fine before you barged in-”

“From what Selene has told me, you went from choking on a crunch-berry and shedding feathers all over the apartment to announcing you were part of a god and showing up naked in her bed, so, no. I don’t think you did as great as you think.”

Deceits shoulders raise in frustration before they storm off, following Selenes path down and out the hall.

 

Des sighs and pats Dirthamens shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry; Selene’ll come around. You’re actually her type, if she could calm down long enough to notice.”

Dirthamen nods, slowly. “How could I go about showing her?”

 

Des looks up, tapping thrice on his bottom lip before they spread into a large, devious grin.

“What do you have to work with?”

–

 

“ _Selene_ ,” Deceit calls for the umpteenth time, as she only increases her pace further, taking twists and turns down hallways she didn’t see during the tour. They finally snag her wrist when she swings open a door and nearly steps into what appears to be an entirely empty room. Empty of everything; ceiling, floors, walls. Just an empty abyss that stretches out into infinity. Deceit pulls her back before she can fall (or float?) into the room, quickly closing the door behind her. “You should not run off like that,” they warn.

“Why am I here?” She demands.

“Because…” Deceit hesitates. “Because we love you.”

“You don’t even know me,” She sighs. “You’re…projecting. From isolation, probably.”

 

“We love you,” Deceit repeats with conviction.

“Dirthamen only met me a few hours ago,” Selene points out. “We’ve barely had a real conversation. He tells me things and I…”she sighs, hand tearing down her face again. “And I yell at him. That’s not love. That’s certainly not  _marriage._ Who would want to spend their life doing that?”

“You are upset. We upset you, and I am sorry for that. We did not mean to overwhelm you. We were excited.”

“Yeah, I heard what you were 'excited’ for,” She scoffs. “You know, Des really would be a better choice if that’s what you’re looking for. He’d love to live here, and that sort of thing is right up his alley.”

“I did not mean…we did not bring you here for sexual encounters. You have shared your home with us; we wished to return the favor. That is part of being partners, yes?”

“Yeah,” Selene admits, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I just don’t understand this. Any of it.”

“Ask.”

Selene raises an eyebrow.

 

“Knowledge is under our purview. If you do not understand something, ask. So long as the answer would not endanger you, we will gladly give it to you.”

 

Letting out a long breath, Selene nods. She steps towards the walls, and points at a large, glowing symbol. “What is that?”

“It is a rune. Some are enchanted, but this one is more decorative. It means 'now you must endure’. A reminder, for our people, and ourselves.”

“It’s writing…?” Selene murmurs, eyes narrowing as she inspects it more closely. “It doesn’t look anything like the trade language…”

“It is elvhen. Do you not recognize it?”

“Written elvhen isn’t…I mean it’s not really a thing. The language itself is largely guarded by our keepers; it’s not  _known_. Certainly not fluently.”

“Interesting,” Deceit muses.

 

“Is that what everyone else here is speaking as well? Elvhen? Like, fully fluent elvhen?”

“Yes,” they say “We learned common to communicate with the outside world, when necessary. To read maps and street signs and translate ideas where magic is less superfluous. Ideas in your world are shared with words and symbols, but here we could share them in concepts; feelings, magical energies, auras. It was an adjustment.”

 

“Will you teach me?” Selene asks.

Deceit tilts their head. “I could. But there is a quicker way, with our marriage bond. If you are open to it, I could share the knowledge with a simple spell.”

“What sort of spell?”

“It would require a physical link,” They admit, quickly adding “Not a long one. But for language, mouths are often the easiest catalyst for the transfer.”

“Is this some sort of trick to kiss me?” Selene asks, mouth quirking slightly.

“I assure you, my tricks are much more clever than that.”

She snorts.

Turns, and looks back at the rune, finger tracing lightly over the bottom rung of it.

“…alright then.”

 

She turns around to face them, only to find Deceit already leaning towards her. Their thumb lands gently on her chin, tilting her head down just enough to line up with their own. She swallows, as they begin to close the gap-

and suddenly pull away.

 

Selene stares in a sort of numb shock while they hold an internal argument of some kind. Finally, Deceits shoulders slump, their fingers lacing through hers as they lead her back out the hall.

“You should come with me,” They sigh, reluctantly walking her down a large staircase and into another hallway, where Des and Fear and Dirthamen are all standing.

Dirthamen shifts awkwardly in his robes as they approach, and Selene looks up at him in curiosity.

 

“Did something happen?” She asks.

“I wanted to apologize,” He admits. “I did not mean to upset you by bringing you here. I was only…overcome. My judgment is not always the best, when that happens. If we have caused you any discomfort, I apologize for that as well. I do care for you, and even if you do not return my feelings I would very much like for you to stay here with us. I have…” He hesitates, and Des nudges him slightly, gesturing for him to continue. “I have arranged for you to have access to my libraries. All of them, any that you would like. This is the largest of them, and so it was recommended that I start you here. If you desire more specialized subjects, please do not hesitate to ask me. I would very much like for you to be happy, here.”

 

Two sturdy oak doors open inwards behind him, revealing a space larger than her entire apartment building that is packed full of books. Shelves line each wall, stretching up to the raised ceilings. There are tables and chairs full of elves with scrolls and parchment papers, and only the soft hum of pages flipping pervades the silence of the room.

Her gaze flits from sign to sign, each covered in writing that she can not decipher.

A library larger than she ever dreamed.

And not a single thing in it that she can read.

 

 

Dirthamen seems to pick up on her disappointment, at least.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s a great apology,” She assures him “But I uh…I don’t read, or speak, elvhen.”

“Oh.”

 

…

“Kiss me?”

 

Dirthamens head tilts as she spins around to look at him.

“To do the spell thing,” She explains quickly. “Deceit mentioned it, and I thought-I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, I just thought-”

“If you want me to, I have no objections to the matter,” Dirthamen assures her, stepping closer.

“What about…” She taps on the side of her face, indicating towards his mask.

Dirthamen makes a soft 'ah’ sound, before removing it.

 

Selene swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.

His skin is a deep ocean blue, eyes bright in contrast as long dark strands of hair fall across his cheeks without the mask to hold them back. His lips form from nothing, suddenly pale and pink and warm. Plush and pliable as they press to hers, carefully prying her mouth open as she feels the tingle of magic press against her; like a shared breath, from his body to hers, spreading down every inch of her body until her fingertips feel like they are buzzing from the thrill of it. Her eyes drift closed, body relaxed and responsive as she answers him eagerly. Small questions filling her mind along with his knowledge, that she responds to in kind without even meaning to. Four arms wrap around her waist and hips, pulling her close to a still robed body, her own arms wrapping around a long, slender neck without even thinking about it while his magic courses through her, filling her mind, pressing against magical reserves she hadn’t even realized existed. Soothing flames from raging infernos to something more akin to bonfires as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

She doesn’t even realize how long it has been until she has to pull back to breathe.

Her forehead is pressed to his, eyes half-lidded while she hears an echo of a single thought from him, a word with new meaning and old memories wrapped up between them.

_Vhenan._

 

She clears her throat, less overcome now by her hormones and her body’s desires, and takes a small step back. For space to breathe, ostensibly.

“I um…” She swallows, and licks her lips, still tingling with energy. “I’m going to go explore the library now. I…will see you in our room later?”

 

Dirthamen stares back at her, skin buzzing with motes of lights before nodding.

“I look forward to it.”


	7. Chapter 7

There is a woman who lives next door to Rala.

Every morning, the ravens visit her.

Their building is a row of narrow, attached houses. Rala doesn’t really spend much time at home. She has a business to run, after all. Storefront to tend to and employees to manage. Work is her life, mostly. Some people find that kind of thing depressing, but Rala likes what she does. It’s not what she’d planned for her life when she was younger, but few things ever really seem to go as planned, and she likes helping people figure out what they might be after.

Every morning, though, she gets up bright and early. Puts in her earphones, and heads out for her jog. She goes down the street and around the corner, up the paved walk that leads into the little local park, then through it, down another road, and then loops the long way back up again. By the time she gets home, they’ll be there.

  
Thing One and Thing Two. The ravens. Two big black birds with long beaks and glossy feathers, who sit on the sill outside her neighbour’s window. Sometimes they caw a bit. They aren’t too noisy. They always wait, and then Rala’s neighbour will open up her window, and they’ll fly in.

It’s a weird enough situation for her to take notice of it. Domesticated birds aren’t supposed to just fly around as they please - it’s a good way to get them killed. But free birds aren’t supposed to be let into people’s houses, either. Rala never sees the ravens leave. She’s seen  _people_  leave her neighbour’s house. And come to visit, too. All types at all hours. For a while she wondered if the woman was a professional hostess, of the private entertainment type, but if she  _is_  then she has a fairly exclusive set of clients.

And weird visiting birds.

Sometimes Rala thinks about asking her. Just knocking on the door and putting the question to her, point blank. What’s up with the birds?

But life likes a little mystery. And as long as there’s no screaming or fighting, nothing getting hurt, she always finds herself more inclined to just leave it be.

~

One evening, Rala comes home to find a man sitting on her neighbour’s front step.

He’s a handsome man, as those sorts of things go. Not quite as striking as her neighbour, who is tall and brown-skinned, white-haired and sharp-featured. The man has a more generic kind of loveliness, by comparison. Narrow features and dark hair, with a single spit-curl at the front. She thinks of Clark Kent, with his pressed tie but his rumpled jacket, dress shirt rolled up to three-quarter sleeves.

“You alright?” she asks, as she goes to put her key in her own door. A discreet whiff of the air doesn’t hold the scent of alcohol, at least.

The man blinks at her, as if that’s a strange question to be asked. Then he seems to take his time thinking about it.

Rala wonders if he’s high instead of drunk.

“I have to go back home,” he says, at length. He’s got a soft voice. It’s the sort that gives her pause, because it makes her think of the kind of people who get rolled over by things a lot.

“You need a cab?” she wonders. “I could call you one.”

The man shakes his head.

“No. Thank you.”

He stays sitting, and Rala hesitates for a minute.

“You don’t want to go back home?” she hazards.

The man shakes his head.

“I want to stay with Selene,” he admits, as if there’s something terrible about that.

“Does  _she_  want you to leave?” Rala wonders, assuming Selene must be her neighbour. It’s a name that fits, somehow. Moonlight and magic and all of that sort of thing. Though, a little atypical for a Dalish elf, maybe.

Again, the man shakes his head.

Rala shrugs at him.

“So. Stay,” she suggests. “You only get one life, kiddo. You might as well enjoy it.”

So saying she finally gives up on being nosy, and steps into her house. She shuts the door behind her, and turns on the lights. Kicks off her shoes, goes to her fridge, and pulls out a jug of juice to sip as she examines her options for dinner tonight. She needs to go shopping soon, but she keeps forgetting. The empty rows of her fridge stare reproachfully back at her, until she opens the freezer with a sigh, and pulls out a boxed dinner.

Sometimes being a workaholic has its downsides.

~

The next morning, the ravens are gone.

They don’t come back again for months.

~

Rala’s not expecting it when she ends her jog, and is making her way up her home street, and sees a red-haired man being dive-bombed by three  _furious_  ravens.

She pauses, and blinks, and watches as the tall elven fellow runs screaming into the road. A few people stop to look out through windows. Some even open their doors. Rala pulls the buds from her ears, and can only watch as the birds - she’s pretty sure two of them are familiar - screech like harpies and seem to do their level best to gouge their target’s eyes out.

Eventually the man makes it to a shiny blue sports car, but to his misfortune, it’s a convertible. And the top is down. He climbs in and starts fumbling with the keys, hollering for help, but what exactly is anyone going to do? The ravens are massive and airborne. Rala pulls out her phone and wonders if she should call 911, or animal control, or  _something._  Fire department?

One of the ravens gets the man’s keys as he tries to start his car, and flings them into a bush. Another successfully yanks a clump of hair out of his scalp. With a curse, Rala pockets her phone and runs over to try and intervene. Maybe she can distract the birds and then race inside?

That’s when she sees her neighbour’s door is open.

The woman herself is sitting on the floor, frozen. A fist-shaped bruise on her cheek, her eyes wide in the kind of way that Rala’s seen too many times.

It stops her dead in her tracks.

She looks at the man being accosted with fresh eyes.

…Ah.

Shifting gears, Rala leaves the man to the birds and ventures over to her neighbour’s open doorway. The woman is staring blankly ahead of herself. Shock?

“Selene?” Rala ventures. It gets her a blink, an uncomprehending look. “Neighbour?” she tries instead.

The woman swallows, and presses her hands to the floor. She turns her gaze back out towards the street.

“I… I… should stop them…?” she ventures.

Rala glances back to see that the red-haired man has been forced to go looking for his keys, and is being made to pay for it every step of the way. The ravens seem perfectly fine, and entirely devoted to their task.

“I think they’re alright,” she says, before turning back to her neighbour. “Do you need medical attention?”

The woman shakes her head firmly, and finally pushes herself up.

“No. Uh. Thank you,” she says, before making her way past Rala, and calling out to the ravens.

The effect is immediate. Two of the birds stop their attack and fly back towards her. The third keeps hounding the red-haired man until he’s back in his car - keys finally regained, blood streaming down his face and hands - and finally gets the engine started. His tires shriek as he takes off down the road. The same raven flies off after the car, unnervingly silent.

When Rala turns to look back to her neighbour, she finds that the woman has disappeared inside again, along with the two birds that came back to her.

…Guard birds?

She shrugs internally. Probably, there are stranger things.

~

Three months later, Rala comes home late to find her neighbour racing down the street, holding a flaming broom aloft and cursing out the biggest damn owl she’s ever seen in her life.

Owl and woman both disappear down the end of the street before she has a lot of time to process what she’s just witnessed. As she continues to stand stupidly on her front walk, staring at the flickering firelight she can still see, and listening to the distant echo of a woman’s voice calling an owl a ‘fucking piece of shit’, a half-naked man hurries out of her neighbour’s house.

“Selene!” he calls. “Wait!”

He looks frantically down the road.

Rala clears her throat, and then points down the opposite end.

“She went that way.”

“Thank you,” the man - Clark Kent again - replies, before taking off in that direction.

Rala doesn’t see any of them again until midnight, when Selene and her man stumble back home, covered in owl feathers and looking a little singed around the edges.

~

The ravens become regular visitors again.

The neighbourhood gets slightly nervous, but somehow, the birds never seem to be around any time someone decides to try calling the authorities about it.

~

Rala comes home some weeks later to find a man sitting on  _her_  front step.

It’s not Clark Kent again, though she has seen him around before. He comes by the shop fairly often, too. He’s a pretty one, too, with a good quality manicure, pulling off a chaotic post-club scene look with a sparkling skirt hitched up to his underwear, and a mismatched jacked thrown over his mesh shirt.

And he  _does_  smell of alcohol.

“You’re not Selene,” he says, blinking up at her. “Although you are also very tall. Oh! You’re my store lady!”

Rala lets out a long sigh.

“Selene’s house is one over,” she says, pointing.

The man follows her gesture, and squints at the house numbers.

“Oh, right,” he says. “Wait… you live next to Selene?”

Rala shrugs.

“It’s a small world,” she says.

“That’s hot,” the man informs her.

“In theory, maybe. But you’re not my type, sweetheart. Especially not drunk,” she tells him.

“I had to get drunk,” he says. “She won’t be… doing. With the gods. She won’t just be queen of the birds! We could be  _living it_  but noooo, everything has to be  _complicated._ ‘We can’t just be gods, Des, that would be  _bad’._  Why would it be bad? Why? We could be gods and fuck gorgeous nerds forever. Where is the downside?!”

With another profound sigh, Rala pulls out her phone.

“Uh-huh,” she says. “And what did you take with your alcohol tonight?”

“Self-pity,” the man tells her.

Rala phones him an ambulance, as he proceeds to slump back against her steps, and pass out.

After thinking about it for a minute, she leaves a note about it for her neighbour. Then she gives up and finally calls it a night.

~

Even with all the strangeness, waking up one morning to find that her neighbour’s house is  _gone_  is… an experience.

The other neighbours take notice of it too, of course. Dawn breaks and the place where Selene’s house used to be is just… empty. Not even like the building burned down or blew up or even got airlifted out of its foundations somehow. Rala’s walls are all intact, and there’s no torn up foundation or smoking framework, or anything.

Just… space. Flat paving, open air. As if there was always a house-sized gap in their living complex, between numbers three and five.

“Uh,” Rala manages, articulately.

The entire neighbourhood seems to share a collective moment of ‘what the fuck?’, followed by the kind of quiet confusion that can only ensue when no one has a goddamn idea on the appropriate response to this kind of thing.

Eventually, someone calls the police.

Eventually, someone else calls a news crew.

Two hours after that, as a reporter talks in front of the yellow police tape that’s making… some kind of an effort at  _something,_  the air wavers. Rala sees it on her phone, from the shop. She still went in to work, of course - staying at home just seemed liable to get her interviewed or something. But through her news feed, she watches as her neighbour’s house reappears in the exact same spot it had seemed to vanish from.

Which creates a bit of a stir.

Selene walks out of her front door, looking harried.

“Sorry!” she says, as even the news crew seems stunned for a minute. “Ha ha, uh… you’ve been… pranked! By a new magic show! Ta-da, everyone, I can’t believe you all fell for it way to go you’ve been great sports!”

She slams the front door shut again.

Rala watches as the news team does their level best to avoid leaving it at that, and Selene closes every curtain in her house. As the cameraman gets a shot of the neighbourhood, Rala notices a single black raven perching on a nearby streetlight.

She didn’t know ravens could look ‘chagrined’ before.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a learning curve.

Selene spends weeks pouring through Dirthamen’s libraries, carrying stacks into her rooms and staying up far too late reading through them. Some nights he’ll crawl in and sleep beside her, or Deceit will stretch out with their head in her lap or Fear will perch somewhere in the room and pretend to not be watching her. Sometimes Des will come and steal them away, often at her request if she’s feeling too…claustrophobic.

It takes some doing for her to find her balance again, between grading papers and making lesson plans and sometimes she’ll borrow whoever is free to help her prep crafts for the children in her class back in Thedas. It’s certainly a strange feeling, to see the God of Secrets filling paper stars with confetti for goodie bags.

 

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her when the glue fell open on Fear during paper mache practice.  _Really_. Talons just weren’t made for that sort of activity.

And the glue turned out to be even harder to wash out of their feathered hair, afterwards.

 

It’s not until nearly a month into their tentative cohabitation that things start to feel strange to her again.

 

“My lady!” One of the sentinels calls.

It takes a moment for Selene to realize they are addressing  _her_.

 

“Oh. Uh,” She flounders  “You don’t have to call me that. Selene is fine, really.”

“Of course, my lady Selene,” They say with a deep bow, and she has to bite back the impulse to roll her eyes. “Your Lord Husband is requesting your presence in his office.”

 

Selene’s heart skips in her chest.

Her ‘Lord husband.’

Her  _husband._

A strangely intimate term for the god who tricked her into their bond.

 

“Right,” She acknowledges all the same, pushing down on the strange twisting feeling in her stomach. “Thank you.”

 

“I’ll make sure she gets there,” Des interrupts as he comes around the corner. “Thanks babe.”

The sentinel turns and bows again, face flushing slightly. “Of course, Lord Des. Thank you for your generosity.”

“That’s me,” Des preens, slinging an arm over Selenes shoulders with a wink. “Lord Des the generous.”

 

Selene snorts while the sentinel takes their leave .

“I can’t believe you.”

“What?” Des says, feigning an innocence he’s never possessed.

“'Lord’ Des.  _Really_?”

“Oh yeah,” He grins. “I’m affiliated with you, and since you married the God-in-charge, I get a ridiculously good ranking. Technically I’m a 'consort’, but hey, no complaints on my end.”

“And you  _like_  the title?”

“Are you kidding?” He says with a shimmy that makes his too-tight shirt ride up on him. “I’m thinking about learning how to write elvhen just so that I can turn it into my tramp stamp.”

Selene shakes her head with a sigh. “You’re much more suited to this than I am.”

“Yeah, well;  _I_  didn’t accept a ring from a magic bird.”

 

With a soft hum of affirmation, she pats his forearm and makes her own way towards Dirthamens office.

Her  _husbands_  office.

 

Something in her warms as the word passes through her mind, but she doesn’t dare linger on it. Emotions are too easily read here, and if word got out that she might…that she might have real genuine feelings for a  _God_ , well…

She can’t think of a single story where that ever ended alright for the mortal.

 

 

The sentries posted outside of Dirthamen’s office open the doors for her when they see her approaching, and she has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from thanking them aloud; the last time she had done so, they had ended up in a nearly thirty minute loop of apologies and gratitudes and platitudes that only Deceit had managed to finally put an end to. Apparently manners only matter for people above your rank and the only person above her rank here, is Dirthamen.

 

“Hello,” She greets with a small, awkward wave. “You called for me?”

“Yes,” Dirthamen answers, motioning her to move beside him. “I was hoping for your input on the garden renovation.”

“I’m sure whatever you have planned is fine,” She says, even as she moves to look over his shoulder at the papers currently laid over his desk. “I’m not even familiar with most of your flora.”

“Are there any particular features you would like it to possess?” He asks anyways. “All of my resources are available to you.”

Selene pushes down on the flush trying to rise in her face at the way he glances up at her when he says it. He’s wearing a mask dammit, she can’t even  _see_  most of his face. Just the way the blue of his eyes reflect the light, looking up at her all earnest, and love filled, and…

_Damn it all_.

 

“A strawberry patch would be nice,” She relents. “I used to like growing them when I was younger, but the type I’m used to didn’t grow well in the heat of the city.”

He nods, and she glances down at him as he scribbles something into one of the empty boxes (magical elvhen translation can’t stand up to bad penmanship it seems, or maybe he’s just writing in a code) and notices a familiar pale yellow color sticking out from the sleeves of his robe.

She blinks once.

Twice.

Her hands reach out to part his robe before she can think twice and-yes.

Yes, her shape-shifting god husband  _is_  wearing her yellow sunflower sweater underneath his magical official god robes.

 

“That’s my sweater,” She says, as though perhaps, maybe, he might not have known. Might not have noticed  _her_  wearing it the day before.

“Yes.” is all he says though.

 

Selene nods, because really what else can she do?

 

“It suits you,” She blurts out, watching as the patches of skin exposed by the stretched out neckline flush and gleam with color at her compliment, the sight making her stomach do flips in a way she’d very much like for it to  _stop_  doing dammit.

“Thank you,” He says. “I hope you do not mind. You left it at the foot of our bed,” ( _Our_  bed, she repeats internally while her stomach does another flip and her heart starts pounding) “And I was quite distracted by the pleasant smell of your bodywash that lingered on it. Wearing it seemed more conducive to making it out of the bedroom.”

 

Selene swallows and nods again, trying very hard not to think about him curled up in bed ( _their_  bed, some traitorous part of herself helpfully supplies) with her sweater pressed up against them and finding other ways to spend their day than doing paperwork to renovate an already exquisite garden. Maybe he’s having similar difficulties to her own; mind distracted by thoughts of  _wife_ , and romance and touch and-

No.

No, no, she’s not-she’s not letting her mind wander there, not now, not  _here_.

Gods forbid she lights his desk or some irreplaceable text on fire and then has to explain why it happened.

_Nope_.

 

“That’s fine,” She finally manages, carefully closing his robes again so she can stop staring at him wearing her sweater and very little else under his robe. “Not a problem at all.”

“Thank you,” He repeats, seemingly utterly clueless about her current internal struggle. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“What?” She says, voice cracking slightly as her mind shoots to inappropriate places and activities and  _her_ sweater and  _their_  bed and _his_  body-

“For the gardens,” He clarifies. “Is there anything else you would like besides the strawberries?”

“Uh,” Selene struggles to find a clear, cohesive thought, tongue trailing absently over her lips. “Water? Like a fountain or…Some sort of body of water? Cold water. Cold water would be great, really.”

“Would a stream suffice?”

“So long as I can drown in it,” She mutters to herself, mentally willing her body to  _chill the hell out_  before more loudly announcing “Yes, a stream would be perfect. Thank you.”

“It is no trouble,” He assures her, writing another note onto the paper before him.

 

Selene takes her leave after that, making up a quick lie about promising to meet with Des about something, and running off to her ( _their_ , her mind reminds her, flashes of Dirthamen nude and dripping and gleaming rising up and quickening her steps) baths to try and cool off before she can ignite some important ancient relic or something.

 

She slides into the tub, goosebumps rising over her skin as she sinks into the cold of the water. Her hair spreads out around her shoulders as she rests her head against the edge of the tub and tries to clear her mind.

It doesn’t work.

The temperature of the water rises as her mind fills with more thoughts of Dirthamen, sprawled out on their bed in nothing but the soft cotton of her sunflower sweater while his cheeks flush the way his neck had, of Deceit behind her with gentle caresses, soft whispers in her ear of ancient secrets and promises of eternity, of Fear prone and open and trusting, and all of them together with bodies writhing beneath her hands, her mouth, her…

_fuck._

 

Her body relaxes as she lets herself fall away from her orgasm, the water steaming around her while she tries to catch her breath. Her cunt clenching around nothing as her fingers slide away, and she tries to convince herself she didn’t just do what she  _definitely_  just did, mind running words on repeat that do nothing to calm her down.

Husbands.

Partners.

_Vhenans._

 

Selene drags her clean hand down her face and lets out a soft curse.

She is in way over her head here.

And she doesn’t, entirely, hate it.


End file.
